


Tell me a story, make it a good one

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dad!Bellamy, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6227713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy relies on storytelling as a parenting technique. Unusual circumstances with his daughter's art teacher open up more than one new opportunity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell me a story, make it a good one

Bellamy’s day hadn’t started great, and it had only gone downhill from there.

Penny threw a tantrum and missed the bus, which meant Bellamy had to drive her to school and was absent from the better part of an inter-departmental meeting he was supposed to attend. His department head hadn’t been too pleased, nor had he liked it when Bellamy had to cancel his afternoon classes. Penny’s school had called around noon with an automated message asking him to please make arrangements for his student to leave school early, as the steadily worsening ice storm was making road conditions too dangerous for the students to remain.

He was certain his undergraduates wouldn’t mind not making the trek across campus in the storm, but he knew he could expect to be reamed out by his boss the next time their paths crossed.

He had made it almost all the way back across town to the elementary school without incident, driving at about ten miles per hour and hands clenched on the steering wheel, when the car in front of him lost control. He’d narrowly avoided a collision, but he’d swerved off the road to do so and his car was now stuck.

His first instinct is to let a string of curse words fly, but he bites back on them reflexively. Then he remembers his seven-year-old isn’t in earshot and spits them out with as much venom as he can manage. It feels cleansing but not all that productive, so he gathers his bearings and clambers out of the car.

Octavia’s number is muscle memory by now, and to his great relief she picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, big brother.”

“Are you at Lincoln’s, by any chance?” Octavia’s boyfriend lives significantly closer to the school and if she’s there, he thinks she and Lincoln will probably be able to pick him and Penny up.

“I am, actually. What’s wrong?”

“Finally, something is going right,” he mutters, starting the slippery trek towards the elementary school. “Can you come pick me and Penny up? I went to get her early because of the storm and my car didn’t quite make it.”

“Of course,” she says, and he hears rustling on the other end of the line. “Let me just saddle up my white horse and I’ll be right over.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a hero. Thanks, O. Be safe.”

“You too.”

By the time he makes it to the school, he’s cold and wet and grumpy. He’s torn between wishing he lived further north so he would be better equipped to handle this kind of weather, and being glad that ice storms like this aren’t common so far south.

The school library is colorful and bright, a little glowing haven in the midst of darkened, locked classrooms and empty hallways. There are a handful of adults managing the twenty or so children left, and he has just spotted Penny at a table with a child he vaguely recognizes when he gets waylaid by Ms. Griffin, the art teacher and head of the after school program that Penny attends.

He’d bristled the first time Penny’s teacher had suggested her joining the program. His memory of similar programs as a child are tainted by the knowledge that his mother had enrolled him and Octavia in them because she didn’t want them around. She didn’t know how to handle kids, didn’t know what to do with them.

He knows it’s different with him and Penny, knows that as a single parent he sometimes has to take the breaks he can get. He likes Ms. G, as Penny calls her, even if it took him a while to come around to appreciating the program she runs.

“Mr. Blake,” she says, distantly polite as ever. “I was just about to try calling you.”

“How’d you get the short straw?” He asks as they make their way over to where Penny is sitting. “Is this like a hazing thing? Did all the newest teachers have to stay and the experienced ones get to go home?”

“Hardly,” she says, her tone shifting as they approach the children. “Penny, your dad is here.”

“Hey, Dad,” Penny says brightly, looking up from her homework. She’s got his unmanageable dark hair and his freckles, and seeing her safe and content in the library makes him equal parts glad she wasn’t in the car with him and relieved her mood has picked up since he dropped her off that morning. 

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, crouching next to where she’s sitting. “You don’t have to pack up just yet. We have to wait for Aunt Octavia to come get us.”

“How come?”

“Well, my car broke down and home is too far to walk in this storm.”

“Are we gonna have to spend the night here?” Penny asks him, eyes wide. He can’t tell if she’s excited or terrified about the prospect of a sleepover at school.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, ruffling her hair. She makes a face and pushes his hand off. She’s in a stage right now where she won’t show him as much affection as she used to, because she’s decided she’s a big girl and she’s outgrowing it. He remembers O going through a similar stage, but he’d thought he had another couple of years before he hit it. “You know a little ice wouldn’t stop Aunt Octavia from saving the day.”

“My aunt is a superhero,” Penny tells Ms. Griffin, who smiles lightly down at her. He’s never seen her anything less than professional– cool with the parents, authoritative but energetic with the children. Her air of being in control is playing well with his kid right now, comforting in a way that Bellamy knows he can’t be in his current harried state.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone her real identity,” Ms. Griffin says seriously, giving Bellamy a small smile before ambling off to talk to some of the other teachers.

He opts to sit on the floor rather than on one of the chairs made for tiny humans, leaning back against one of the wall-mounted bookshelves and settling in to wait for his sister. Penny is mostly occupied with the books and her classmates, so he has little to do except worry about what’s taking Octavia so long. He watches kid after kid leave with their parents, the number of teachers dwindling proportionally. 

After almost an hour and a half, right as Ms. Griffin is waving goodbye to the other remaining child and trying to convince her last colleague to head out, he feels his phone buzz.

“O?"

“Bell, I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to get over to the school, but there’s a huge wreck and I’m trapped in my neighborhood. Even if I could get out, I’m not sure I could make it all the way there. The roads are pretty rough.”

Bellamy halts in his tracks; he’d been heading over to start getting Penny bundled up (it can take her a while), but now he’s not sure what he can realistically do.

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was.” Her voice sounds small on the other end of the line, and he has double the reason to wish she were there with him. Even though she’s a fully grown adult, he can’t help the gut instinct to want to take care of her when she’s in distress.

“Okay,” he says into the phone, trying to channel some of that confident attitude Ms. Griffin was using earlier. “We’ll figure something out. I’ll let you know when we have a plan, but stand by just in case, alright?”

“Let me know if there’s anything el se you need,” she says, and hangs up.

“Bad news?” Ms. Griffin asks, keeping her voice down. Penny is pretty consumed with whatever book she’s picked up (there’s no doubt in Bellamy’s mind where she gets that), but he doesn’t want to freak her out.

“My sister can’t make it,” he replies in a low tone, watching his daughter read. “Road conditions.”

“Do you have anyone else you can call?”

“Maybe? My friend might be able to come get us, but he’s a cop so he might have been called in to help with the storm.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment and when he glances at her, she’s also watching Penny, her blue eyes turning an idea over in her mind. It’s crazy to watch her brain work so fast. Mesmerizing, almost.

“Well, none of us want to be here anymore,” she says eventually. “I live just around the corner. That’s how I drew the short straw. You guys can hang out until someone can come get you.”

“You sure?” He asks, surprised.

“Of course. All I want to do right now is change into something cozier and crawl under a blanket, so it’s not like you’ll be interfering with any big plans. Just because you can’t enjoy the comforts of your own home doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the comforts of mine,” she says, giving him half a smile. 

She's relaxed into the conversation, seeming less like an entity and more like a person. Before, she’d been kind of a blank canvas, representative of the school, the after-school care, the fact that he’s a single parent, his issues with his mom… it occurs to him that he may be projecting too much onto her. 

“Well, when you put it like that.”

Penny is a little distraught that even Octavia, her personal hero, has been taken down by the storm. Luckily, that’s offset by the intrigue and attraction of getting to visit her teacher’s home.

“I get to see your house?” She asks, awed. 

“What, did you think she lives at school?” Bellamy teases, passing her coat for her to put on.

“Nobody really thinks that, Dad,” Penny says, rolling her eyes. He’s pretty sure his sister taught her that one. She turns a serious gaze on Ms. G and asks, “Do you have hot chocolate?” Ms. Griffin nods back, just as solemn.

“I even have the giant marshmallows.”

Penny keeps up a pretty constant stream of chatter between the school and Ms. Griffin’s house, letting Bellamy hold her hand only because she skidded on the ice when she stepped down from the school’s curb and it scared her. He’s got his work bag and her backpack slung over one shoulder and is cursing himself inwardly for not grabbing his waterproof coat when he left for work that morning.

They stop in front of a small, one-story house and Ms. Griffin holds the gate open for them.

“I just want you to know,” she says, bending like he always does to look Penny in the eye, “that you are the first student I’ve ever had over. That’s a lot of responsibility, okay? I need you to pinky swear you won’t tell anyone how messy I am.”

Penny giggles at this and links her pinky with Ms. G’s. 

“Dad is always telling me I’m too messy, too.”

“That’s because you are,” Bellamy says, shifting from foot to foot. His work shoes were  not made to be worn in this weather. “Sometimes I can’t even find you in your room because it’s such a disaster zone.”

“Dads,” Ms. Griffin says, rolling her eyes and opening the door. It really isn’t  _ that _ untidy. There’s a lot of clutter on her kitchen table, and it looks like it could stand to be dusted, but her home is quaint, colorful, and, most importantly, warm.

She tells Bellamy they can make themselves at home and he starts to get Penny situated on the couch while she disappears to parts unknown, presumably to change. When she gets back, she’s wearing sweatpants and thick socks and a sweater, her neat braid falling apart a little from the quick change.

“Think fast,” she calls, tossing Bellamy something in a blur of heather grey. It turns out to be a college sweatshirt. “I figured you might want to get comfortable too. Or slightly more comfortable than your– what is it you do, again?”

“I teach history at Ark U,” he says, loosening his tie and slipping it into his bag.

“Right. More comfortable than your professor getup. Now,” she says, turning to his daughter, all business. “I believe we said something about hot chocolate?”

She keeps Penny occupied while he tries to call around for another ride. Miller is, in fact, at work, helping deal with the influx of accidents. Monty and Jasper don’t answer, but he’s not really sure he trusts them behind the wheel under normal conditions. Murphy answers, but he’s out of town on business Bellamy doesn’t really know much about, and isn’t any help.

“Here.” Ms. Griffin extends a steaming mug to him. “Penny said you don’t take marshmallows in your hot chocolate.”

“Thanks,” he says, gulping gratefully. He’s still kind of cold, and the beverage starts to warm him from the inside out. “Is there peppermint in that?”

“Sorry, that must have been mine,” she says, sipping at hers experimentally. “I stir in my leftover candy canes from Christmas.”

“That’s genius.”

“Any luck finding a ride?”

“Nope,” he sighs, leaning back against her counter. “I could call a taxi?”

“I’m not sure you’d be able to get one to come out in this weather,” she says, biting her lip and casting her eyes out the window where the freezing rain is coming down again.

“Are there any hotels in walking distance?” He asks, running through contingencies in his mind.

“Don’t be silly. If it comes to that, the two of you can spend the night here. I have a guest room and a couch. It won’t be any trouble.”

He’s taken aback once again and drinks from his mug just to have something to do.

“Thank you. So much. This is way not in your job description.”

“It’s no big deal,” she grumbles, as if him thinking she’s a nice, generous person is not the impression she wants to make. They stand in silence for a few moments, sounds from the television floating in from the other room.

“So here’s an awkward question.”

“My favorite kind,” she laughs. She has a nice laugh. If you’d asked him a few hours ago, he never would have said he ever thought he’d get to hear it.

“In my head, I’ve just been calling you Ms. Griffin. Or Ms. G.”

“That is awkward,” she agrees. “But not so much a question.”

“My question is, what should I call you?”

“My friends call me Clarke,” she says, extending a hand.

“Bellamy,” he introduces himself, wondering if she already knew that. “Are we friends?”

“You’re drinking hot chocolate in my kitchen,” she points out. “I think we can play it fast and loose with that term, but you’re welcome to call me whatever you like.”

They heat up some frozen pizzas for dinner because it’s all Clarke has on hand. He teases her about lacking survival foods, and wonders if he’s coming too close to flirting. She gives as good as she gets however, accusing him of being a mother hen, so he figures she probably doesn’t mind that much.

They get Penny set up with some of Clarke’s movies. He makes a comment about the fact that most of her collection is G-rated and she shoots back that she’s an elementary school teacher, and how would he like it if she came over to criticize his DVDs? He’s trying to find a not-weird to say he wouldn’t mind her coming to visit when Penny chimes in, “Most of our DVDs are mine. Dad’s are all boring documentaries.”

“They’re not boring,” he tells her. This is an argument they’ve had before. “They’re historical and they’re awesome.”

“But not as awesome as  _ Wreck-It Ralph, _ ” Clarke says, and the girls high-five.

Penny makes it through that movie and part of  _ A Bug’s Life _ before Bellamy catches her with her eyes drooping, and he elbows Clarke gently.

“Do you have a t-shirt she can wear to sleep in?”

“Give me a sec,” she says, nodding. Bellamy turns to his daughter to negotiate bedtime, but she starts to whine.

“I don’t wanna go to sleep.”

“Penelope,” he says in his warning tone.

“I want to be at home in my own bed.”

“How about this?” He asks, pausing the movie. “You get ready to go to sleep, and then I’ll tell you a story.”

It’s the way he’s gotten her to go to sleep for years. He’s made up stories for her since before she was really old enough to understand them. They’ve been really helpful as a parenting technique– it was his stories that convinced her the monsters under her bed were really only having a tea party and didn’t want to eat her, his stories about broccoli forests growing in her tummy that made her eat her vegetables. He’s hoping this one will help her deal with the ice storm outside.

The promise of a story seems to calm her a little, but she’s not quite done whining yet.

“Do I have to sleep on the couch?” 

“You can sleep on the bed with me, if you want.”

“No! I’m a big girl. I can sleep by myself.”

“Then the couch it is.”

She eyes him, her lower lip jutting out, arms crossed angrily over her chest.

“Rock, paper, scissors?” She asks, holding up a fist. It’s how they decide things, sometimes. It’s one of their traditions, like his stories, and when they play, they both agree to stand by the results.

“Alright,” he says, holding his own fist out. She counts them down, huffing in frustration when he throws rock and crushes her scissors. But she abides by the rules, pushing herself off the couch and grabbing the t-shirt from Clarke, who is standing in the doorway trying not to laugh.

“Were you really going to sleep on the couch if she won?” She whispers.

“She goes for scissors, like, ninety percent of the time,” he says, groaning when his knees creak as he stands.

“Oh, so you were playing her.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll get what’s coming to me. One of these days she’ll catch on, throw paper, and get to do something really bad. Like wear a super inappropriate dress to prom.”

“You don’t think she’s going to catch on before high school?” Clarke asks, her mouth twisting to one side in amusement.

“A dad can dream, right?”

He gets Penny’s hair and teeth brushed while Clarke sets up a pillow and blanket for her on the couch. As he tucks his daughter in, he can feel Clarke hovering in the doorway.

“Are you staying for story time, Ms. G?” Penny asks.

“If that’s okay with your dad.”

“The more the merrier,” he says, getting comfy at Penny’s feet as Clarke climbs into an armchair across the room.

He starts to spin a tale of the Princess Penelope (the star of many of his stories), who has to battle an army of ice monsters so she can get home to her castle and rescue the King. Penny, years ago, picked out a butterfly to be Princess Penelope’s sidekick, which presented some problems for Bellamy, plot-wise, until he decided she would be a  _ magic _ butterfly who glows in the dark and can grow at will to be big enough that the Princess can ride on her back. By the time the Princess saves the day, Penny is asleep, and Bellamy kisses the crown of her head before ducking out of the room quietly.

“That was great,” Clarke whispers, leaning with her back against the hallway wall.

“Thanks,” he shrugs. “That one had a pretty straightforward storyline. They can go a little off the rails sometimes.”

In the dim hallway, the quiet house, the wind howling outside, this whole scene feels more intimate than he’s been with another person in a long time. He reminds himself that he hardly knows Clarke. That she’s his daughter’s teacher. That she’s helping them out a lot and hitting on her is not the way to repay her. The last one is what breaks the moment for him, and he tears his eyes away from her face.

“You’re a good dad,” she says unexpectedly. And then, “I’ll show you to the guest room.”

“Yeah, I have a question about that,” he stage-whispers, following her down the hall. “Why do you have a guest room?”

“For guests, obviously,” she says, frowning at him over her shoulder. “What kind of a question is that?”

“I just meant– Do you really get that many guests? Are you just prepared at all times to take in your students and their parents? Why don’t you use it as an office, or an art studio or something?”

She stops in front of a door and it takes a concerted effort not to run into her.

“Jeez. Flash your taillights or something next time.”

“I do use half of it as a studio. How did you know that?”

“You’re an art teacher.” He steps back so she’s not  _ quite _ so close to him. “And half the paintings in your living room have your signature on them. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist.”

“Right. Of course,” she says, shaking her head as if to clear it. It’s kind of endearing. “Sorry, I’m just a little bit weird about showing people my work sometimes.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t display it in the space you just let any old stranger into,” he says, grinning when she purses her lips. She’s trying to hold back her own smile, he can tell, and it pleases him for some reason. “Is there anything you need to cover up before I go in there?” He asks, nodding at the door behind her. She contemplates, shakes her head, and steps aside.

“I don’t mind if you take a look at what I’m working on.”

He’s not sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t storyboards. They’re filled in with rough sketches, ideations of different characters pinned on top. All the speech bubbles are blank, and he can’t seem to find the thread of the plot, but it’s cute and quirky and it’s really good. She blushes when he tells her so.

“Thanks,” she says, stepping forward to look at them with him. “I don’t really have the story worked out yet, but I think I like the style of it.”

“It’s incredible, really,” he says, dropping to sit on the bed. “And I consider myself an expert on children’s books right now, so you can take my word for it.”

“I should get you to write one of the blurbs on the back.”

“I definitely owe you for tonight, so writing a blurb is really nothing in comparison.”

Clarke’s eyes lock with his, evaluative, and he wishes he knew what she’s thinking.

“What happened to Penny’s mom?” She asks, her voice soft. He knows it must have been telling when Penny’s mother wasn’t on his list of people to call to come get them, but the question still catches him off guard.

“She died. We got married young, had Penny young, and then she died young. Car accident.”

“It’s always too soon, isn’t it?” Clarke asks, wrapping her sweater-clad arms around herself in a hug. “My dad died when he was in his forties. My best friend, at sixteen. I’m sorry that you had to go through that. That Penny went through that. Believe me when I say I don’t wish that pain on anyone.”

Her face is open, less composed than he’s ever seen it, and he suddenly feels like he’s been handed something that she doesn’t allow many people to see.

“I believe you,” he says, his voice as gentle as he can make it. She gives him a nod and backs out of the room, telling him goodnight and shutting the door behind her.

Around five in the morning, he jolts awake when he feels Penny climb onto the bed with him. He scoots over to make room for her and holds open the covers, barely opening his eyes, and doesn’t fall back to sleep until he hears her breathing even out. The next time he awakens, the storm outside has stilled, soft morning light is filtering through the windows, and he can hear his daughter trying to whisper in the kitchen.

He stumbles out to investigate and finds Penny standing on a step-stool next to Clarke, the two of them carefully mixing ingredients for pancakes.

“Morning,” he says, combing his fingers through his daughter’s bed head. “You teaching Ms. G our secret recipe?”

“No. Then it wouldn’t be a secret.”

“We found a recipe online,” Clarke says, smiling at him. Even first thing in the morning she’s beautiful and he thinks how much easier his life would be if she weren’t. “She’s supervising while I mix.”

“Yeah, she’s good at that.” He stretches and tries not to smile at the way she turns away quickly, a little pink.

“Coffee’s by the sink, and I’ve called my friend Raven. She’s gonna stop by in an hour or so and look at your car.”

“Is she a mechanic?”

“No, just an enthusiast. But she does have her own towing equipment.”

Raven turns out to be a sarcastic woman about Clarke’s age, and she looks smug when Clarke introduces Bellamy and Penny. They walk a few paces behind him on the way over to his car and it sounds like good-natured bickering, the kind he enjoys with his own friends. After a few hours, they manage to get his car back on the road and operational.

“You’re a miracle worker,” he tells Raven, grateful beyond belief. “And you’re a lifesaver,” he says to Clarke.

“Anytime, really.” Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and she looks downright adorable all bundled up and he really needs to get a hold of himself.

“What do you say to Ms. G, Penny?”

“Thanks, Ms. G,” his daughter recites dutifully.

“You’re very welcome,” she responds, then looks back to Bellamy. “I know this might sound weird, but– will you let me know you got home safe?”

“Uh, sure,” he says, trying not to make eye contact with her friend Raven, who looks like the proverbial canary-eating cat. “I guess your email is on the school website?”

“Or you could just text me,” she says, as if it’s obvious. He hands his phone over and watches as she carefully programs her number in and smiles to himself all the way home.

They’re friendlier now when he comes to pick Penny up at her after school program, chatting here and there or exchanging a smile and a wave if she’s with a student when he arrives. He’s trying to figure out what an appropriate next step is in getting to spend more time with her when Penny brings home her monthly folder of work from art class and frowns at a mailing envelope mixed in with her collages.

“I think Ms. G put this in on accident,” she says, dropping it on the kitchen table dismissively.

" _By_ accident,” Bellamy says, picking up the envelope and turning it over. It has his name on it. 

Inside is a stack of drawings, with a sticky note on top that reads,  _ I couldn’t get this out of my head. Hope you guys like it. -Clarke _

He rifles through the stack of papers, finding a fully illustrated version of Princess Penelope’s battle with the ice monsters. It’s very clearly a cartoon version of his daughter, and it’s incredible.

He pulls out his phone and calls Clarke before he can talk himself out of it.

“I can’t believe you made this,” he says when she answers the phone.

“In a good way or a bad way?” She asks, sounding nervous. “I know it might be weird–”

“No, no. In a good way. I love it.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

“Good,” she says, and he imagines he can hear a smile in her voice. Wonders if she can hear the smile in his. “I’ve been trying to work on my story but I was lacking inspiration, and it just kind of– happened.”

“It’s awesome,” he says, flipping through the pages again. It’s not bound and the words aren’t exactly his, but he can totally imagine it in book form. “If you ever need more storylines, just let me know. Penny and I have tons of them.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure,” he shrugs. “It would be cool if I could help you get published.”

“You’d be published too,” she says, her voice pensive. “I know writing children’s books isn’t something most people dream about, but it can be decent money. I’d make sure you got some credit for the stories.”

Bellamy considers. He’d really meant to offer inspiration, loose plots, but if Clarke is offering him a chance to make some extra cash on the side, he’s not going to say no. It’s not in his nature, especially not as a single parent.

“Then count me in,” he says. Before he can lose his nerve, he adds, “I’m not a great writer, though. My stories are best told to an audience. Preferably in person.”

There’s a beat when he’s not sure if he’s crossed a line, not sure if this is really what she intended when she offered, not sure if she’ll say yes even if she’s interested simply because his daughter is her student. But then she laughs in relief and he can suddenly breathe again.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she assures him.

She has him over for dinner later that week, Octavia and Lincoln agreeing to watch Penny with less teasing than he expected. He learns that she’s a good cook, that she follows Premier League football religiously, that she thought she wanted to be a doctor when she was young but that art had been an outlet for dealing with hard times as she grew older. She’s attractive and charming and interesting and he can’t remember the last time he fell for someone so easily.

“We didn’t even talk about potential stories,” he realizes as she’s walking him to the door so he can go pick Penny up. She laughs and kisses him on the cheek.

“Then I guess we’ll have to do this again.”

Tuesday nights become their date night, or as he and Penny call it, Aunt Octavia’s night. Between flirting and getting to know each other they do manage to get a few stories done, and when he shows them to his sister she’s speechless.

“Bell, these are so cool.”

“Thanks,” he smiles. “We’re sending some to a publisher later in the week. Clarke’s mom has connections and we’re using them shamelessly. With any luck, they’ll help pad Penny’s college fund.”

Octavia turns her green eyes on him in a way that's always made him feel transparent.

“You really like Clarke, don’t you?”

“A lot,” he says, looking down at the drawings instead of at his sister’s knowing expression. “It’s been a really long time since I even wanted to go on a date, O. But I have no idea how to handle dating with a kid, much less dating my kid’s teacher. It’s… tricky.”

“Just don’t be stupid,” Octavia tells him, which is not the advice he thought he’d get. “You put your life on hold a lot for me after mom died. Don’t do that again. See how it goes with Clarke, and if it gets serious, you’ll figure out when and how to tell your daughter.”

Her words bounce around in his mind for the next week, floating to the surface each time he sees Clarke at school or gets a text from her when she’s worked up about how her teams need to get their act together. The next Tuesday, when she comes over to his place for dinner, he greets her by pulling her in for a real kiss that ends with him pressing her up against the door and her hands threading in his hair.

For all the time they’ve spent together, he hasn’t really let himself think about the physical side of things. They’ve kissed a couple of times, brief and chaste and leaving him with a lovestruck expression, but he’s been holding back because of his daughter, doing exactly what Octavia warned him not to do.

“Nice to see you too,” she says, her forehead leaning against his, her nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “What did I do to deserve that?”

“My sister talked some sense into me,” he confesses, kissing her temple before moving to check the progress of the rice.

“Why did she need to talk sense into you?” Clarke asks, following and hopping up on the counter next to him.

“I was afraid of getting in too deep to fast.”

“And now?”

He grins and moves to stand in front of her.

“I’m already in pretty deep. Making out with you isn’t going to change that.”

She grabs his tie and pulls him to her to kiss him again. It’s not as all-consuming as the one before, mostly because he can feel her smiling into it, but he’s not complaining. He wants to kiss her a million different ways.

“In case it isn’t clear,” she says, pushing him away, “I’m in pretty deep too.”

He feels like a teenager with a crush the way his entire body is electrified at her words.

“Glad to hear it,” he says, trying to make his mind focus on the food. “I’ve never, uh– I haven’t dated anyone since Penny’s mom. This is new territory for us.”

“It’s new territory for me too. I’ve never dated anyone with a kid before. We can figure it out together.”

“Together,” he echoes, placing his hand over hers. He likes the sound of that.


End file.
